A Thorn, a Rose
by solecism7
Summary: Entry for Paper Roses (by v-0-3, all rights to her) 5K competition. Hiro, determined to advance past his robotic, deadly "nature", decides to turn to nature to help: he desires to plant roses for Akio, his closest friend. The world seems to be against him, though, so what's the point? Can a destroyer create? T for minor language, suggestions of suicide, and hints of blood.
1. Chapter 1

Could a destroyer create? Could something with a design to rip limbs from bodies and set fire to enemy villages make something good? The questions kept Hiro awake. For eight days, he couldn't enter "sleep mode". As his processor whirred inside him, he wondered if he could find an answer. Why shouldn't he create? Why give a killer two hands if they were not meant to do something with them? The creation just needed to be simple. Yes, simple, enjoyable, and beautiful. Hiro felt his internal facial temperature rise at the thought of Akio, who was simple, enjoyable, and beautiful. If Hiro wanted to create, it would only be proper if it was something Akio liked. A drawing? Too simple, and with Hiro's skills, not beautiful, either. A hand-squeezed glass of orange juice? The last time Hiro tried that, his circuits got all sticky. Another question arose: what could Hiro make for Akio that would do good in the world, yet not harm anyone?

 _Thump_. Panicked, Hiro jumped up from his bed and aimed his pulsating gun towards the noise at the window. But no one was there. Hiro stalked over, hating himself for automatically shifting into a battle stance. _Thump_. A bumping like a pebble falling on the ground. Looking down, Hiro's eyes met the culprit. A tiny yellow bee, happily confused, squished its chubby face against the glass. Hiro sighed in relief. Ashamed of his panic, he quietly let his arm gun return to a hand. Pathetic; how could he even dream of creating when his instinct was to kill?

As an apology, Hiro opened the window for the bee. The little bug bumbled over to the far corner of the bedroom where a bouquet of roses wilted in a porcelain vase. The flowers belonged to Yuki—a gift from some admirer or another—but she wasn't fond of their deep crimson color. Frankly, the blood red petals reminded Hiro of things he didn't want to remember. However, like the bee cuddling into the face of the flowers, the color attracted all sorts of interesting characters. Beetles with hard shells, whole fleets of pollen, and, most importantly, the short yet sweet Akio. Every time he swung by Hiro's room, he'd take a moment to admire and sniff the roses. While Akio smiled at the flowers, Hiro couldn't help but feel alive.

Roses—that's what Hiro could create. A perfect project! Simple enough to serve as a substitute for a lover's word. Enjoyable enough that insects of all kinds, from the villainous mosquito to the sweet honeybee, adored it. Beautiful enough for the purity of Akio. Bright, tender roses for Akio. He could only be mystified by the flowers' beauty. A little bloom couldn't hurt anyone. The dark red ones gave Hiro flashbacks, but there were plenty of other colors, even other shades of red. If anything, the pollen might make someone sneeze, but no one ever died of sneezing. Yes, roses would work. As the sun rose, chasing away the darkness, Hiro was determined to create.


	2. Chapter 2

A week later, in the shed behind the house, Hiro stood proud over his arsenal. No, he had to call it something else. "Arsenal". "Group", maybe? "Supplies", he'd call it all "supplies". The girl at the gardening store weighed down his arms with these "supplies" for his creation. From twelve heavy, colorful pots to dirty bags of soil, Hiro's supplies were ready. Hiro cradled the most valuable item in his hand: rose seeds. The gardening girl told him they were a "mix" of roses. Hopefully, within the mix, at least one of them would be a romantic red. Hiro couldn't believe he had to rely on a tiny seed to achieve his dreams. He didn't have another choice, though, so he merely said a prayer to someone who didn't seem to ever listen, sighed, and picked up this…trowel thing.

Quickly, Hiro learned all about the difficulties of gardening. Soil did not mix well with metal plating. It tended to get under his fingernails, caked so thickly on his hands that his gun stopped opening, and smeared black across his whole body. The filthiness made sneaking around Akio very difficult. Just before starting his rose-colored endeavor, Hiro decided to hide his huge project. Surprises, like birthday parties and Christmas presents, always made Akio especially happy. The man's eyes normally twinkled, but with surprises, his eyes became fireworks. Hiro would pay anything to see that, or, better yet, be the cause of it. Hiro also wanted a way out in case he failed. He admitted to himself there was a large chance that he could only be a killer. Prime directive and all that. The only thing that stopped him from firing his weapons indoors was due to a shut-off switch activated by proximity to Akio. Otherwise, Hiro would be a raging monster by default. A machine can only go so far out of its programming. Only time would tell if gardening was within those limits.

But Hiro managed to put his negative thoughts aside as he tried to tend to his plants. Every day, just as the sky changed from black to a sleepy gray, he slinked out to the shed. Occasionally, Yuki or Akio were up for whatever reason, but Hiro managed to sneak by anyways. Akio, forever perceptive, once caught him walking to the shed, but turned around, pretending he saw nothing. If he wasn't interrupted, Hiro would spend the rest of the morning watering, weeding, coaxing, and talking to his seedlings. A book about flowers insisted he try to "bond" with the flowers by chatting with them. The more he talked, the better the flowers were supposed to turn out. He tried his best, yet Hiro's attempts seemed to just lower his own morale:

"Hello…plant. Seed. Dirt pile. This is awkward. I'm just going to water you and go, OK?"

"Do your job and grow, please? Grow pretty, too, if you have the time. I'll try to help, but, y'know. It's me we're talking about."

"Why are you wilting, I just watered you! Here, have more! Oh, so now you're drowning?"

"Why are all of you dying? Ugh, why not me?"

"I will _trowel_ yo—no, no, I can't. Dammit, Hiro. Why are you so—why are _all_ of you dying? Why can't I do this just once?"

Months dripped by, sometimes faster, sometimes slower, always painful. Rose bushes would swell with crisp leaves, but not produce any flowers. The two times a flower appeared, they quickly aborted themselves. Ew, how could they stand to live with Hiro, some robotic abomination, as their master? Blood, sweat, and tears were supposed to go into a project. All Hiro had to offer was oil, more oil, and tears. Some days, like when the roses' leaves shriveled up after an unseasonal frost, Hiro wondered if something without blood and sweat to water their dreams with could ever have anything. The world tried to tell him to stop. It killed bushes, sent rust to attack brand new supplies, and sent blistering rays of sun to hinder Hiro's progress. On days like that, he often wept to himself in the back of shed, humiliated. A battle robot planting flowers! What else would fall out of order? Would the sun shed darkness? Could worms eat birds? Hiro would eventually stand up in a fit of rage. He tore pages out of his gardening books, cursing their useless information. Once he even kicked over a plant. But once the entire room was destroyed, Hiro would see the error in his ways, loathe himself more than usual, and return to the back for a crying session. Usually, he could walk away and come back the next day, ready to try again.

However, one day broke him. On one that heartbreaking day, Hiro dragged himself into the shed to find a surprise: a bush had a flower. Tears swelled in his eyes. The morning only featured rain, a slight chill, and fractured sunlight. But no matter what the world threw at him, Hiro prevailed! The first true joy in this suicidal project! Finally, finally! Hiro thrust his hand towards the lovely fuchsia ros—oleander. Hiro did a double take. Oleander? Surely enough, according to his books, this was an oleander. Of course, because it was Hiro's project, within a _rose_ mix there had to be another flower's seeds entirely! Not just because it was Hiro's project, but because of Hiro himself! What a mistake! Suddenly, Hiro saw the futility in it all. He smacked down the bastard bush. Why not? The world hated him anyways. He blasted three other bushes to flaming smithereens. Why not? He snapped the bookshelves in half, made splinters of a shed wall, and punched through every window. Why. Not? Prime directive and all that!

Stalking outside, Hiro's vision blurred. Around him, he saw pieces of wooden wall, random pages floating in the air, and heard endless screams. No—no screams here. Coming back to reality, or at least to today's reality, Hiro crept back inside the shed. He brushed past the remains of the door and the bits of glass from the windows. He looked around at his project. Shreds of oleander lay on the floor. Gardening books crumpled under their own shelf. He groaned, sliding down the fractured wall until he was a ball in the middle of his mess. There he sat for the day, thinking. As dawn crept over the horizon, Hiro realized his original error. The point was not to create. In theory, Hiro "created" every day. He created sleep, breakfast, charred practice targets, and much more. Creating was simply a by-product of being, however artificially, alive. The point was to bring happiness via that creation. Happiness was simple, enjoyable, and beautiful. A perfect project. Not to Hiro himself, of course. Ideally, he wanted to not just trounce what the world's view of him was, but to completely flip it by spreading as much joy as possible. Realistically, though, Hiro would be happy just seeing Akio smile more often. Hiro sighed, his resolve back.

Over the last month of warm weather, Hiro cared for the surviving bushes. He didn't know or care if they were rose bushes, oleander bushes, or burning bushes. He could create happiness out of any of them if he tried. A bouquet of oleanders looked just as pretty as a bouquet of roses. Despite repairing the bookshelf, Hiro left most of the books alone. Sure, he checked the pages on plant illnesses and pests. Otherwise, he decided to just do what felt right. He most certainly stopped talking to the plants. That did not stop him, however, from stroking a leaf every now and then, purely out of habit. Maybe, just maybe, a few of the plants started receiving names. "Pollyanna" sat in the blue pot. "Yuki" withered in a pink plastic one. Four bushes responded to "Akio". It was all so silly, but why shouldn't Hiro bring a little happiness to himself in his hell-bound project?

It was a Tuesday. The robin and blue jay hummed as Hiro walked out to the shed. When he reached the shed door, he paused, trembling. For the past week, a certain bush, one of the few left unnamed, was being shy. It donned buds for weeks, but no flowers. Would today be the day of celebration? Closing his eyes, he tiptoed inside, slipping on his comfortable gardening gloves. The thick fabric reminded him of holding hands. On one hand, his morale was getting low again. If there wasn't a flower on that bush, he feared he might open fire on the whole shed again. On the other hand, he didn't want to see it! But Akio would want to. Hiro eyelids popped open. Faceless, yet magnificent—a cherry red rose peeked at Hiro.

With a scream of joy that sent birds flying from the trees, Hiro plucked the rose. Twirling it in his gloved hand, he couldn't believe his eyes. He did it. This delicate ruby of a flower was proof that Hiro, a machine made for murder, could create happiness. Oh, the look on Akio's face! Hiro nearly melted imagining what Akio would say, or, better yet, do. Why should he imagine anymore? _Today_ he could finally bring happiness to someone! Hiro wanted to rush to the house to give Akio his prize. But it needed some presentation first. Flitting through his books, Hiro found the illustrations page. Dozens of varieties of colorful flowers bloomed across the page. A perfect wrapping paper for a perfect project. Hiro quickly ripped out the page and rolled up the rose in it. Then, swooning and feeling alive, he skipped to the kitchen, where Akio, slightly concerned, washed the breakfast dishes.

Looking up from his chores, Akio winced as Hiro crashed out of the backyard's shed. Akio had been worried about Hiro for a while, but didn't say anything. After all, Hiro hadn't been so animated and driven in years. Every morning, without fail, Hiro crept into the shed. By dinner, he was back out again. All this went on for so long, but this morning was the first time Hiro looked so…alarmed. Akio braced himself for either horror or happiness as Hiro burst through the door, his hair a mess and his hands in old gardening gloves. An elegant rose with vibrant green leaves rested in Hiro's hands. Out of breath, Hiro waved the flower at Akio. A gift.

"So, this is what you've been working on?" Akio said, taking the rose. "You know, you can garden anytime, Hiro. I won't shame you for it or anything."

"No, I-I wanted it to be a surprise," Hiro admitted, still on cloud nine, "The rose? I thought it was—well, it reminded me of—I hope you like it."

Akio stared at the rose, flicking its delicate pinkish-red petals. "You thought it was pretty, so it reminded you of me? And, yes, I like it. It's absolutely stunning. That's very sweet, Hiro. You grew this for me?"

"Just for you," Hiro said.

"Hiro, I don't know why you wanted to hide this, but thank you. This flower is beyond gorgeous. Pleasant surprises are always welcome in my book. Speaking of books," Akio said with a laugh, "This wrapping paper is something else! Did you tear pages out of a book? These pages are lovely, but I want to see all of your handiwork—well, gardening work."

Gently, Akio uncoiled the pages from around the rose's stem. Now the whole rose, from blushing tip to rough bottom, laid in the man's hand. As Akio rolled it around in his hand, Hiro felt whole. His project ended wonderfully. The results were perfect: the rose was beautiful and Akio was happy. Despite all the difficulties Hiro tackled on his journey, the world finally seemed to let up on its hatred of the robot-man. A trigger went off inside Hiro. Code_12_A flashed before his eyes: Akio is bleeding. Hiro whirled around to find Akio clutching his finger, the rose smirking from the ground. The flower flexed its uncut, bloodthirsty thorns.


	3. Chapter 3

Akio sucked his bloody ring finger. "Hiro, I think you forgot to take off the thorns—Hiro?"

Hiro had slumped to the kitchen floor. His face turned cold and frozen, almost like the metal it was shaped from. He didn't care to smash windows and walls like he did with the oleander's birth. There was nothing left, not even an ounce of resentment, within the man. What a sting; he worked endlessly for the past month, actually enjoying himself, only to create a weaponized flower. A weaponized _flower_ , dammit. He gave Akio, the most important person in the world, a deadly rose. He could hear the world laughing at him from all sides, its plan to topple Hiro's dreams complete.

"Hiro?" Akio said, kneeling beside him.

"Why can't I do anything right?" Hiro droned.

"Hiro, come on. Look, it's just a little bit of blood."

The robot-man was stuck in another world. "I guess I _am_ doing things right. I'm a killing machine, after all. I'm made to harm, so whatever I make will harm people, too. It's only right. Prime directive."

"Hiro, I'm fine, you're fine, everything will be okay—"

"If I was made with two hands, then I was supposed to do something with them. What are my options?" Hiro whispered, staring at his gloved hands. "To kill?"

"A bandage will fix—"

"Or to press my self-destruct button—"

A sharp slap stopped Hiro mid-sentence. A little spot of blood from Akio's finger splattered on Hiro's flaming red cheek. Akio was willing to deal with Hiro waking up at insane hours to toil away in the shed. He also tolerated Hiro feeling as though he needed to hide his hobby. But this suicide thing _again_? Serious or not, Akio wasn't letting Hiro wrestle with those thoughts alone. Besides that, Hiro looked so happy five minutes ago. The way he twirled in the door, the wild, raw excitement in his eyes, the volcanic, hot flow of stuttered words—it disappeared so soon. Akio couldn't help but feel as though he caused Hiro true sadness.

"For one, Hiro, I'm fine. The flower didn't actually hurt me, just the thorns. You didn't hurt me, either. Secondly, I'm not even sure you have a self-destruct button, but we're not going to find out, not at least while I'm still around."

"Akio, I gave you the rose. It's my fault," Hiro said, his eyes watering, "I should be punished for it."

"But, you meant for it to make me happy, right? I know you didn't say that, but I wouldn't expect anything else from you, Hiro. You always try to make me happy. Who could punish you for that? You might be a battle robot, yet you'd never hurt anyone on purpose unless they deserved it. You know that, Hiro, even if you think otherwise."

Hiro didn't respond. He merely leaned on Akio, whirring quietly. Akio stared at the rose on the floor. It looked less malicious now on the cold, expansive linoleum. The tender little petals begged to be stroked again.

"You know, it's funny how similar you and that rose are—don't panic, I don't mean it like that. You both have the capacity to hurt and to make me happy. I love roses. Their smell, all the colors. But, like we just saw, they could harm someone. You're the same way, but you have an advantage: choice," Akio murmured, "Yes, you're programmed to be dangerous and deadly and whatever. So why would your code even allow you to consider building a garden? Hiro, you can choose to kill or create. There's no extremes, either. You can hurt a few things, like bugs or grass, but still exist as someone who creates. You don't have to fall into the violent life your programmer imagined for you. For you, there's the capacity to be anything you want."

"Anything?" Hiro mumbled, more to himself than Akio.

"Anything, even a backyard gardener who wakes up at crazy hours. No, especially that—just look at how lovely this rose turned out. I'd really love to see more."

Again, Hiro offered nothing in response. He questioned his painful little project. Did it make him "happy"? At the start, he remembered feeling nothing but anger. The futility of reading all of those books, hauling all those dirty, circuit-clogging supplies, and chattering inanely to a bunch of deaf plants made his stomach turn. Yet, it was in the pursuit of Akio's joy. Then, too, Hiro became happier as time went on. Soon he was honestly having fun. In a sense, he rejected the pre-conceived movements of a gardener and learned to enjoy himself. Yes, Hiro realized with a jolt of electricity: he learned to enjoy _himself_. He could be Hiro, the serial slaughterer. Looking down at his gloved hands, Hiro, the rose lover, was equally as possible. Why give a killer two hands if they were not meant to do something with them? His creator gave him hands and directive, but wasn't around to tell him what to do.

Hiro stared up at the other man. "You'd like to see more? Like—"

"More roses, more daffodils, more everything and anything you want to throw at me," Akio said.

"Then I'll do it."

"For who? If it's just for me, then I'll just pick at Yuki's leftovers. That girl gets plenty of flowers, I'm sure she won't miss a few. Heck, I doubt she even wants the ones she has."

"I-I'll do it for both of us, half for my happiness, half for yours," Hiro said, shaking with joy and a little fear, "I'll grow you the prettiest flowers in the world, Akio."

The smaller man nodded and stood up. "That's good. Now, if you need me, I'll be finishing the dishes. Call me if you need a gardening assistant."

Hiro laughed, "I'll consider it. You'll need gloves, though…"


	4. The Years After

Many years raced by. Neighbors and birds came and went. A new shopping mall popped up down the street. Daughters and sons scurried off to college. The one constant was the crowd of cherry red rose bushes sweeping up and down the sides of Akio's house. A few of the bushes, with their futuristically scorched leaves, were a tad less than constant. Nevertheless, the perfume of roses permeated the air every day in the summer. The townspeople were avid fans of the household's rosebushes. Grandmothers with sticky young children stopped by to admire the blooms. Tourists stopped when they came upon the bushes, the only pause in their entire trip. Little bees, dressed in the finest pollen, visited the flowers to rub their faces on the petals. Every day, a man would come out of the house. With his skinny yet cute frame, he'd stare at the roses for a few hours. Sometimes he took out a sketchpad. Though he peered at the roses, a smiling man with metallic features appeared on his paper. Before he went inside again, he whispered a 'thank you' under his breath. After all, the bushes were his presents. The perfect presents, really. After all, those roses were the most simple, enjoyable, and beautiful things anyone, destroyer or maker, could ever create.


End file.
